


Prefer to Text

by Roth1900



Series: Prefer to Text: The Series! [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crack Fic, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Masturbation, Sexting, Texting, if you squint your eyes a little then it might seem in character, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 14:10:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roth1900/pseuds/Roth1900
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys like to write. One texts, one blogs, and neither of them talk out loud about the feelings they share... oh and John finally tells Sherlock to 'piss off'.</p><p>Due to many requests this is now part one a series. :) You're welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prefer to Text

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a true story. Let's just say this one was a bit cathartic for me! (you know who you are.) ;D

Sherlock always preferred to text. John preferred to blog. They were both more confident in the written word.

_Why don’t you do those buttons a favor and take that shirt off? -JW_  
 _Tedious. Easier if you unbutton them for me. -SH_

There were lots of coy smirks and raised eyebrows flung around London when they’d text to one another. There were speeding pulses and quickened breaths too, the more forward they got.

_I want to know what you taste like. -JW_  
 _Your mouth would be so warm after breakfast tea. -SH_

It made John shiver, and made Sherlock’s body hum in anticipation.

In person, out loud, it was all business and flatmates. The written word however, allowed them to be lovers. 

_I’d fuck you tonight if you’d let me. -SH_  
 _What makes you think I won’t? -JW_

It turned them on, they’d even text while in the same room.

_You look edible tonight, John. -SH_  
 _Come here. -JW_

They never moved toward each other, though. Never gave any indication that one had read the other’s words.

_Your lips pout when you’re thinking. Did you know that? -JW_  
 _I’m thinking about you. -SH_

When John imagined Sherlock, moaning and begging for release, he was usually in the shower... one hand on the wall, his head thrown back, eyes shut and flooded with images of his gorgeous, enigmatic friend. 

When Sherlock imagined John, grunting and sweaty from rapture, he was usually standing just outside of his flatmate’s door... he did love the thrill of knowing he could be heard, be found out, be nicked from the landing and thrown on John’s bed in an instant. 

“Need anything? I’m heading to the shop,” John would say.

“Formaldehyde.”

“Sorry, not at tesco.”

“Nothing, then. ...milk.”

“Right, I’ll be back in few.” 

_I never want you to leave. Come home soon. -SH_  
 _Even when I’m out, I’m with you. I’ll always be with you. -JW_

Sometimes they would send emails, when a quick text just would not do.

_Do you know what you do to me when you parade around in that robe? I get so hard just thinking about you, all legs and elbows, lounging and pondering on that couch. I want to know what you would do if I just laid on top of you. I want to know what you’d say, or how your breath would come in short and fast. How your lips would taste that first time I kiss them. I would kiss them, bruise them, more like. -JW_

_I love hearing you say my name. Even when you say it in that disapproving ‘no, I refuse to buy you a hacksaw, even though you need it for a case’ voice of yours. I can hear the desperate want you have for me. I can’t blame you for it, though. How could I? -SH_

They never discussed the messages they sent. They never acted upon them. Sometimes need would shadow their faces when their eyes would meet. Sometimes they would stand a little too closely, lingering a little too long. Once their knees grazed on a particularly memorable cab ride.

_Would the cabbie see if I put my hand down your trousers right now? -JW_  
 _The real question is would I care if he did? -SH_

And he wouldn’t care, would he? John knew Sherlock. He would tilt his head back, groan, and thrust beneath his palm not giving a single shit about who saw him or what they thought. All attention would be on John and the sensations he gave. 

_John, I need you, come here. -SH_

John hesitated. Was this part of the game? He looked at his watch. 21:30, and they were on a case. He turned down his mouth down. It wasn’t overly suggestive. If John responded how he wanted to respond... but he could be wrong, and then he would be mortified, and the game would be over forever. 

He knocked on his bedroom door lightly, his ear tilted toward the sounds within, “Sherlock?” he whispered.

There was a rustling, a padding of bare feet, a whoosh of satin robe. “John?” Sherlock whispered back in utter confusion. He leaned his head against the oak, unintentionally mimicking his flatmate. Their foreheads were separated only by the width of a wooden door.

“What did you need?”

He could hear that Adam’s Apple bob as Sherlock swallowed. “I... Well... I... I sent you a text.”

 _Oh fucking perfect._ Of course he would be wrong. “Oh,” John rolled his eyes in humiliation. He had never felt like a bigger idiot in all his life, “right... sorry.”

“No it’s... fine.” That baritone voice sounded rougher than normal. 

There were a few tense seconds of silence that seemed to stretch on for ages. It was a painful silence, only interrupted by a thrumming in their veins. When they did speak it was on top of one another's words, rushed, embarrassed.

“I can go back upstai-”

“You can stay he-”

They both hummed in laughter, their confidence building. 

Sherlock concentrated on the stain of the door, traced the pattern with the tip of his index finger as he spoke, “Under normal circumstances I would open the door, but I’m rather... indiscreet at the moment.”

John drummed up his courage and swallowed hard against his inhibitions. “Tell me what you needed, Sherlock. Please,” he said with more pleading in his voice than he would later admit.

Sherlock didn’t say anything, but John could hear his breath hitch and that glorious blue robe shift. 

John’s vision blurred. “God, Sherlock... what I could do to you...” 

They stood, inches apart, and listened to each other breathe and moan. The sound Sherlock made at completion would haunt John for the rest of his life. He’d hissed through his teeth, then grunted from the back of his throat in a moment of unhinged, gutteral pleasure. He was panting and hopeless and it made John’s mind flood with wanton Sherlock, sweaty and spent. As quick as that, it was John who was finishing. His was a curse dragged out by the consonant. “Oh-oh-F-fu-uc-ck.” It was gloriously dirty. 

When faced with one another in the morning it was all as it was before. There was no awkwardly mumbled good morning, or blushing, or avoidance. John sat down with his paper, Sherlock was fidgeting with his phone. 

_Why didn’t you open the door last night? -SH_  
 _I could ask you the same question. -JW_

Their text messages and emails continued for weeks without a repeat of ‘the great door fiasco’, as John had taken to calling it in his thoughts. 

_Has anyone ever bitten your lips? -JW_  
 _You could be my first. -SH_

They were in the lab at Saint Bart’s. Sherlock was working with his favorite microscope when his phone sounded. 

“Hand me my phone?” He’d asked distractedly. 

“It is literally touching your hand.” 

He shrugged one shoulder and continued peering through the scope. 

John rolled his eyes, straightened his shoulders, and reached across Sherlock to grab his phone. 

“Read it.” 

John half laughed, “What, are you joking?” 

“I never joke when I’m working.”

“Sherlock,” John blushed, “it’s from me.” The words had a weight to them that only Sherlock would understand.

“Is Molly here?” 

“No.”

“Then read it.” 

John’s throat clenched, he tried to clear it to no avail. “I-- ahem, sorry... I want to--” John took a deep breath. “Oh, this sounds ridiculous.... I want to lick every inch of you. There. Now, never ask me to do that again,” he said in a rush, locking the phone and slapping it hard on the counter.

Sherlock snickered at John's embarrassment. 

“Oh, piss off,” John muttered.


End file.
